


The President's Ward

by redjaded (timeheist)



Series: The Redjay [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/redjaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing into a Time Lady is hard enough, but growing up as Rassilon's ward is even harder...</p><p>Or: A collection of stories illustrating Roda's childhood (largely) after her father, Meyerodon's, death, and the relationships and intrigues that first came into being and wound shape her life forever.</p><p>A collection of chronological one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did she manage,” He glanced at the orange sky through the window on his roof. “To get blue pen,” Gail could only blink at Meyer, “On all of my patients?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story alludes to Roda's exile during later regenerations, but is set when she is less than eight years old.

This. Was. Ridiculous.

Just what was going on Gail didn’t know. It was as though some sort of madness had gripped Gallifrey. Not a plague like everyone claimed. That was the eighth person to come in to his clinic in the last hour claiming that they’d caught some kind of nigh extinct pox. All of them were covered in blue dots which upon close inspection – at first – and irritated glances – by the seventh person – had turned out to be slightly scratched ink-marks.

At first he’d accused the patients of trying to pull some kind of trick on him; especially because they’d all been sitting in his waiting room when he’d come in that morning waiting calmly for their scheduled check-ups without any spots. Maybe impatience drove people to immaturity? But eventually he’d realised that there generally was some kind of insanity spreading amongst his patients. He would have closed up the medical bay for the day and gone home for a break just in case it was him who was going mad if the suggestion hadn’t struck fury into everyone else waiting to be treated for their mysterious rash.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Subconsciously he began to tap his desk with his fingers.

One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three...

The tapping helped him think. Just what was going on? Surely seven or eight people – so far! – hadn’t managed to get themselves covered in blue artist’s pen without realising. He didn’t even think there was any blue pen in his waiting room to begin with. He’d thought adult Time Lords and Gallifreyans alike would have had more sense than to point the nib of a quill at their face even if there was ink. There was no sanity to the matter!

One... Two... Three.

He’d claimed he needed a break and locked the door. Then he’d decided to check his own temperature and heart rate. He’d even checked his endorphin and hormone levels just to be sure. But there was nothing wrong with him. And he was sure that he wasn’t so stressed that he could be seeing and hearing things. To be on the safe side he’d told the intern to spread the news that patients reporting a strange blue rash should try washing their skin before seeing him. Damn it. When Maxafantras found out that he’d shut up the clinic and was turning people away Gail was bound to get a reprimand. He dragged his hand over his face and dislodged his glasses.

One... Two... Three.

He forced his hand to stop tapping out its neurotic rhythm when the beat was interrupted by another out of synch tap. Someone at his door.

He should have known that it would be Rodageitmososa. Gail had gone to answer the door and had been greeted by the sight of Meyerodeon holding a whimpering child with blue hands by one wrist. At least she had the grace to look as though she’d done something wrong. Gail groaned and leaned against the door frame for strength. Roda with a blue pen... All of this chaos had been caused by Roda with a blue pen.

“How did she manage,” He glanced at the orange sky through the window on his roof. “To get blue pen,” Gail could only blink at Meyer, “On all of my patients?”

“I really don’t know.” Meyer groaned. He sounded world-weary. Gail could tell that despite the stress he was under of trying to run his library and raise a child alone after the heartbreak of being left behind by his wife he was trying very hard not to laugh and to look remorseful. Even Roda – who looked as guilty as she was. Little criminal genius – had a slight grin to her features. There was that lilt that children had when they knew they shouldn’t have done something but would have done it anyway because it didn’t seem like a bad thing. Sometimes children could be more perceptive than adults. It was hard to stay angry at her

“I’m so sorry, Gail...” Meyerodeon ran a hand down his face and lost the battle not to laugh. His arms were covered in blue dots himself. “Caught her at it five minutes ago.” He choked out what passed for an explanation through his chuckles and bundled the four year old into his arms. With a sigh he began cradling her to his chest. Furious as he should have been for having his time wasted Gail smiled fondly and prised the blue pen from Roda’s hands. She pouted at having her toy taken away and Gail tapped her on the nose with his stethoscope.

“Could you try painting yourself next time little Roda?”

***

Had Gail known that in a few hundred years time Roda would be painting herself blue on a regular occasion and running around the universe under the pseudonym Redjay he might not have been so quick to quip. They both recalled the story tonight though it was so much different this time. History was shared with caution and for comfort rather than in the calm company of a friend. By Rassilon’s decree no deed of the Redjay’s was to be recalled for she had been removed from the Matrix. It was a punishment given to very few crimes. But if playing an old childhood game brought a little light to the wrongly exiled woman’s life then Gail would not refuse it of her. 

He pulled the older Roda into his arms and let her cling onto his shoulder and then ushered her quickly into his house and the welcoming arms of his wife. Tears streamed down the Time Lady’s cheeks leaving grazes of blue that looked like injuries. The injuries he’d seen on her arms during her trial looked to have only recently healed from the stress of her ordeal. Gail went into doctor mode at the sight of her. He knew too well how Roda could be if she succumbed to depression again. For now he would rationalise his decision to let her in with his Hippocratic Oath. She could be arrested for returning this soon after she’d been exiled.

He tapped agitatedly against the wall one more time. As he shut the door he gathered the nerve to do what he could to help her.

One... Two... Three.


	2. Gallifreyan History 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even as a child, Roda had never held much respect for her elders (at least when they hadn't earned it). But when they held no respect for her family, and that family was gone, that respect ceased to exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during Roda's 1st regeneration (picture Katie Melua), and being an older Rassilon, obviously isn't Timothy Dalton's incarnation (in the past I've imagined Liam Neeson as Qui Gon Jinn). This is rather an important chapter in Roda's childhood, as you can likely guess

“You see, Lord President, she’s a menace! Attacking her elders for no apparent reason – a Time Lord in the Council, no less!” Borusa paced angrily, looking at the President of Gallifrey, Rassilon, beseechingly. “Not listening to any of my lectures this week, downright disrespectful in the past, and now this!” He raised his arm, scowling down at the young Gallifreyan between the other two men. “She should be expelled.”

“Thank you Lord Borusa, I shall deal with the task at hand.”

“But Lord President!”

The young Gallifreyan snapped, looking up at her lecturer with venom in her eyes and muttering darkly, loud enough for him to hear her clearly. “Yes, Professor. Lord Rassilon the great is infinitely more important than you are. He knows what he’s talking about.”

Rassilon gave the student a stern look, shaking his head to dislodge some of the dark hairs out of his eyes. It wouldn’t do to look scruffy, especially with him in his ceremonial robes, the main figure of authority in the room. Call him vain, but then again; when he’s been in charge of the Prydonian Chapter, and he still was, he’d created it, he had chosen the colour scarlet because it suited him. He looked up again. “Thank you Lord Borusa.” Rassilon barely stopped himself rolling his eyes; damned Time Lord failed to understand when he was being told to leave. The girl opened her mouth to snap and then let her head drop again. Sometimes, Rassilon didn’t know what to say about the young Prydonian. Instead, he ignored the other Time Lord as though he’d taken the hint and left. "Rodageitmososa. Can I ask what on Gallifrey you were thinking?"

Roda, Rodageitmososa, head in her hands and growling in the student's chair of Borusa's office, groaned. No, no, why him. Why did they have to call the one person whose disapproval would jeopardize her life plans after graduation? As if the last few days hadn’t been bad enough. She looked up at Borusa again, unable to meet Rassilon's eyes. She could feel them burning into her neck like dematerialization guns. Brushing her curly black hair out of her eyes she swiped a hand over her face and wiped tears and sweat away, still unable to think straight. She was in shock – so, for that matter, was Professor Borusa. Most of the other students in her Quantum Mechanics class weren’t so surprised. "He started it." A more childish answer she couldn’t possibly have given, but she was only fifteen years old; as a Time Lord that was fairly mature, granted, but she had a good reason for her bad mood, and wasn’t yet an adult.

“He started it?”

“…Yes!” Roda snapped, and dropped her head to her hands again as Borusa snorted and narrowed his eyes at the novice, looking as though he expected the other Time Lord to exact the maximum punishment and reinstate the Death Game just to send her in with a Dalek. Damn the rules, if Borusa thought he could convince Rassilon to do it then he would probably try. But it seemed even Borusa wasn’t that stupid – could have fooled Roda. She kicked out at the table in front of her, snarling to herself, and Rassilon raised a stern eyebrow, shaking his head in resignation and turning to face Borusa – he doubted he’d get much out of his one-time assistant in a hurry.

“Why did you call me?”

Borusa smoothed down his robes and snorted again, even more disdainfully, before answering, buttering his smile especially for Rassilon. Rassilon didn’t respond – oh yes, he enjoyed the attention, the adoration, the respect, but he could tell an impostor when he saw one. There was something he didn’t like about Borusa, even in the council, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She had no relatives to speak for, Lord President.” The professor hopped from foot to foot awkwardly, wringing his hands and smiling haughty. “We, that is to say I, knew you were–”

“No relatives? What about her father?”

“He’s dead, Lord Rassilon.” It was Roda who spoke up, speaking between splayed fingers.

Rassilon paused, and raised an eyebrow. “Lord Meyerodon? He regenerated?”

Roda shook her head. “Disappeared. They said he might come back, but…”

“…I had not been informed.”

Roda choked, and rolled her shoulders to distract herself, linking her fingers into a cat’s cradle game taught to children so that they remember the most important laws of time. Both Rassilon and Borusa could hear her whispering them under her breath with ragged sobs. Rassilon hummed; he wasn’t entirely self-centered. Holding the large medallion around his neck up to the light and examining his seal, he looked briefly at Roda and then turned to Borusa, raising a hand in dismissal.

“You may leave now.”

“But -!”

“You dare to question me!?” Rassilon boomed loud enough for Roda to finally raise her head and look at him, and Borusa hurriedly bowed low and vacated his office, leaving the two of them alone. Sighing exasperatedly, Rassilon put his hand on the back of Roda’s chair and took a deep breath, waiting for the usually bounding Gallifreyan to turn to him. He’d seen her, on diplomatic visits to the Academy, not to mention the one time the Prydonian Academy had misguidedly sent students to work experience at the age of twelve and he had misguidedly agreed to take on a dogsbody for a few days. When she didn't perk up, however, Rassilon moved around into her line of sight and took a seat in Borusa’s vacated one, steepling his fingers and looking over them at her. “Explain.”

“He started it!”

Rassilon’s voice was curt. “Remember who you are speaking to. Now, I said, explain.”

Roda, glad of the formality, reeled off her explanation in a monotone. She paused, let out a long held in breath, and studied the orange sandstone floor. “I – I nodded off in Quantum Physics.” She paused, swallowing. “And Borusa started saying things about my father.” Rassilon opened his mouth to remind her how to properly address her professors then thought better of it, giving no sign of interruption and letting her continue. “He said that I was a failure, just like him. I don’t care what anybody says about me but… He was not a failure!” She shouted again, furious for the second time, Rassilon noted, if Borusa was to be believed.

“I see.” Rassilon steepled his fingers again. “That was unacceptable, he will be reprimanded. However, you should have gone to another professor, or as he is a council member perhaps even come to me, not attacked your better.”

“Better is a matter of opinion.” Roda spoke largely to herself, falling uncharacteristically quiet again. Rassilon’s tone softened, and he cleared his throat, hoping to get her to look up at him.

“You have the details?”

Roda knew he was talking about her father immediately. The House of Meyerodon, after all, was Prydonian. She didn’t understand how he couldn’t have known, but perhaps he’d been busy. The idea left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she shook her head. “No answers.”

Rassilon wiped a hand down his jaw, noting with some surprise that he was due a shave. “I’ll conduct a thorough investigation. I am sorry for your loss.”

“So people keep saying.” Roda twiddled her thumbs and then finally looked up at Rassilon, half balancing on her tiptoes and leaning over the table to look him straight in the eyes, runaway tears trailing down her cheeks. “But they still don’t know what happened and they wouldn’t even try.” She choked. “Who would kill him, for Pythia’s sake! He was a librarian!” She looked once at Rassilon, remembered Gallifreyan History 101, and then blushed with a loud wince, looking at the ground reverently. “Please excuse my language, Lord Rassilon.”

Rassilon, surprised, stood up and crossed back around the table, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I will find out for you. And your apology is accepted. If there’s anything I can do…" He slipped back into diplomacy. If there was anything he'd learned taking over and rebuilding a planet, it was how to be diplomatic (and when to abandon it). "Anything at all.”

Roda took in a sharp breath at the hand on her shoulder and dropped her head into her hands. “I’m – I’m sorry I hit Professor Borusa. Am I going to be expelled?”

“Lord Borusa is tactless and thoughtless.” Rassilon hesitated; he had never been the affectionate member of the family. In fact, no one in his family had been. He understood that he might have been when he was young but then again even Peylix – Omega – hadn’t been the cynical and sarcastic scientist he had been when he got trapped in the supernova back when they were children. People changed. Rassilon, for one, had made himself colder and colder over the years, and had almost forgotten what it was like to be anything other than that. “You are forgiven.”

Roda nodded. “Thank you Lord Rassilon.”

The President cleared his throat, turning diplomatic once more.

“Now. Your lessons are cancelled for today. You will stay in my house.” He paused. “I understand that Lord Meyerodon was your only family. Your House is extinct.”

He grimaced. The House of Meyerodon, was - with no male line - yet another extinct Prydonian House. There were becoming too many, as though his Chapter somehow encouraged recklessness and misbehaviour! This House however would live on until Rodageitmososa had passed away herself. Once a majestic Chapter, the ranks of the Prydonians were quickly falling now that so many of their members were turning renegade, and Rassilon had turned the leadership of the Chapter over to the Kitriach of the House of Lungbarrow, Quences, as Regent. Better to wash his hands of the mess before it truly begun and focus on Gallifrey as a whole, pride be damned just this once.

Roda nodded mutely, mumbling her thanks, before looking up in alarm. “With you? You? I’m Roda, you’re Rassilon!” She wrinkled her nose apologetically. “Sorry, Lord Rassilon.”

He inhaled deeply. “And you will be my ward.” He paused, and was surprised to say that when he spoke, despite Rodageitmososa’s perilous reputation from what teachers had told him, he was speaking the truth. “You show great promise. You have confidence and personality, if perhaps too much. I respect that.” Roda nodded again, lost for words, and he could sense her blush without even looking at her cheeks; he doubted she was told she had potential very often. Borusa’s conclusion of her as a failure said enough for him to be sure. She looked at him pleadingly, confused. The hatred in her eyes when he’d first walked into the office he now realised was not for Borusa but for the circumstances of Meyerodeon’s presumed death. “There will be an investigation. When you become a full Time Lord, you will be given your father's small estate. For now, it is inappropriate for you to try and run a household.”

“Me? Run an estate?” Roda snorted. “I’d be surprised if I could run his library let alone anything else.”

“Which is why I will instruct you. I have no heirs of my own.” Rassilon let go of her and stood up. The Pythia had made sure of that. He had lost his only child in the revolution. “For now, you shall stay with me.” Straightening up and looking down at her, he extended a hand in a beckoning gesture. His estates hadn’t been visited by anyone than himself in over sixty years… “Come.” Roda stood, and smoothed her robes with a bruised hand. She felt younger than ever. “We will return to my rooms and discuss this privately.”


	3. Flubbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodageitmososa's instinct, like most children, on discovering a young animal all on its own, is to take it home and care for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roda isn't actually as young as she sounds here: she is simply having "an attack of the cutes".

Six months after Meyerodon’s death, Rodageitmososa came home with a small red mammal sleeping in her spare robes. Lord Rassilon blinked, about to chastise her for being late home from the Academy yet again, or for tearing the robes she was wearing and getting the other pair in her arms dirty, when the small, furry animal caught his eye. That, and the hopeful look of confusion on the child’s face, as she cradled the creature like most children would a doll, or perhaps, more fitting of a Prydonian youth (so felt Rassilon) a new set of Roentgen Blocks. He opened his mouth, lost for words for the first time in a long time, and Roda took a step back, wrapping her arms more protectively around the animal in her arms.

Rassilon sighed, and crooked his fingers, beckoning her closer with what he hoped was a warmer facial expression, if stern. Children had never been his forte, or something he’d expected to fit into his life plans... Then again, she was a youth in the Academy now, and wouldn’t remain a child for particularly long. Tentatively, the child who’d fallen into his warding since her fathe’s disappearance, severing the male line of her house, stepped forward, eyes wide as saucers, and pulled the edges of her robes back while biting her lip.

“What is it?” She looked so worried, or excited, that he couldn’t help but answer.

“...It’s a flubble, Rodageitmososa. Didn’t you learn about them in school?”

The creature was small, only an infant; it would have fit in Rassilon’s hand, its six small legs hugging his fingers like the species hugged Gallifrey’s silver trees. A little like what those in the Sol System called a koala, but with more legs and a smaller nose, flubbles were a sort of red colour befitting of Gallifrey until they reached maturity, at which point their fur turned greyer. They were an old species, and Rassilon could remember seeing them on Gallifrey even when the planet was under the Pythia’s accursed reign, although he’d swear that in his childhood (what he would still admit to, of it, having fabricated most of the history most Gallifreyans ‘knew’ of him), they’d been bigger. As an afterthought, he raised an eyebrow, looking down at her and adjusting his collar.

“And it’s a child.”

“I know it’s a baby.”

Roda nodded proudly. Rassilon grimaced; of course he would inherit a teenager. Talking with the Council was one thing but getting some sense out of a mourning child was a very rare occasion. Not that he liked to admit there were enough deaths on Gallifrey or in his chapter, the Prydonians, to warrant a large number of mourning children. In fact, Rodageitmososa was, quite probably, the first example of a mourning child since long ago, when the wars had claimed so many lives. He had lost his child and heir in the revolution. But he couldn’t find himself all too bothered by Meyerodon’s death, not as much as he’d waxed at the time, and was more interested in the potential of having a youth under his thumb. A potential he couldn’t help but think was being stifled when she broke several of the ‘house rules’ to half ruin two pairs of clothes, come home late – it was nearly dark, not that he was worried – and come home with something small... And... Fuzzy. Ah yes, the flubble. He’d almost forgotten.

“And what exactly is an...” He grimaced. Flubble. Not exactly the word most befitting of the Lord President of Gallifrey’s decorum. “Infant flubble doing in your robes?”

“I found it. We went to Mount Perdition today.”

She looked proud again, lightly rocking the flubble, and it was all Rassilon could do not to roll his eyes. He wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, and Roda always seemed to be looking for his approval. It was only to be expected; she had no parents, after all. Of course she would latch onto somebody. Not that he’d intended it; he’d taken her into his home only because he was the head of her chapter and it wouldn’t be fitting to abandon a child to keep a House running.

“Can I keep it?”

Rassilon spluttered, finally agitated. It would only be a matter of time, of course, with a temper like his. He paused, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, then relented and crouched down to the child’s level, glancing momentarily at the snoozing flubble before meeting her eyes. The look on his face was stern, but he tried to make his voice at least a little softer. “No, Rodageitmososa. How would you look after it with your classes? I can’t be expected to stop working if it needs my attention. Lord Presidents don’t have that sort of time.”

“But...” Rassilon sighed. “It has no one. I checked all day, and – and Professor Niels said it would die on its own!” The child was on the brink of tears, and surprising himself, Rassilon had to steel himself before replying. Damned Meyerodon, still causing trouble from the grave! Rassilon found himself blaming her father, and not the child herself. Both of them too inquisitive for their own good, and Rodageitmososa so prone to obsession; this fascination she had with a Sol-3 legend he would never understand, and rather hoped would pass. He was no role model... Goodness only knew where she’d learnt about him. With Roda still reeling on, Rassilon raised a hand for silence.

“My word is final, Rodageitmososa.” Her face fell. “Return the flubble to Mount Perdition after class tomorrow then return immediately.” The child’s face fell, and he clapped his hand onto her shoulder, squeezing once before standing. “You must be strong, Rodageitmososa.” He sighed, seeking a compromise. “You may care for the creature tonight then leave it in Professor Niels’ care, so long as you do not let your studies slack. He is... Good with children and small animals.”

“Yes Lord Rassilon!”

As the child - teenager - took the infant up to her room Rassilon has a terrible feeling this wasn’t the last that he’d hear of flubbles.


	4. Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least Zagreus hadn't expected a bedtime story...
> 
> Told from the POV of Rassilon.

“What for the sake of -?”

Lord Rassilon, President of Gallifrey, Time Lord, lifted his head with uncharacteristic surprise, blinking away the last remnants of sleep as he dislodged the pages of a classified file – paper, so archaic in this day and age! – from the side of his cheek and stared in resolute horror at his ajar study door. Never mind that he’d left the door open while he was working, that was bad enough, but that shout... Whimpering... And tears? Just what was going on in his house that could startle him out of premature sleep so distinctly?

Running a hand over his eyes and then through the edge of his stubble (he hoped to grow a beard again) he pushed himself to his feet with, he imagined, the groan of joints needing oiling after long hours in the Citadel and the office. He was still young by this regeneration’s terms, relatively so, but there were times when he felt his full few thousand years in age, and this was one of them. Glancing once at his staff, white point star glistening at the top, he cast his glance over the blueprints for one of Omega’s inventions that he’d been trying to decipher so as to build and claim for himself, and stubbornly left the staff behind. He could walk without it.

It was as he followed the sound of the crying down the few corridors it had travelled that he realised not only that he really did want to sleep, but he knew precisely what the sound was. Rodageitmososa; the Time Tot who he had, in recent days alone, taken into his home. Barely a child and fresh from her Initiation, she had fallen into the arms of the Prydonian Chapter after her father’s ‘death’ and, as a result, the mercy of the Head of said Chapter and the man who had orchestrated Meyerodeon’s intended murder. His jaw set as he thought over the events of the last couple of weeks.

Back to the matter at hand, he was unsure what to do with the child. To throw her into the streets or hand her to gossiping, critical Time Lords in the Council who could raise her the right way would be callous even for him. He might have been many things, and ruthless was certainly one of them, but the Time Tot admittedly had done no wrong other than fall into an unfortunate family. The way he saw it, at least. And when he’d stopped Borusa from searching the records for a family looking to Loom who the child could be given to instead, he’d had the notion that if he were an integral part of Rodageitmososa’s upbringing he might be able to raise her into a model citizen.

Later, Rassilon had decided that he was probably going soft in his age to have such an idea in the first place but there was no going back on it. In a matter of mere months she would finish her preliminary classes and begin full time at the Prydonian Academy and he would be sure to mould that education as far as his influence would allow him, and with his reputation and social standing, he hoped she would grow up less inclined to political indiscretion than her father.

He pushed open the door of the room he had given her to sleep in without preamble, drawing another loud cry from her as she pulled the covers up to her eyes, peering over them with a wet face and shuddering shoulders. Rassilon blinked; it had been a long time, perhaps far too long, since he had had to deal with the perils of frightened young children be they himself or either of his long-gone brothers. Just what was wrong with the child? Black curls sticking to her forehead and her thumb only inches from her mouth, she held a bedraggled stuffed toy which looked to be tafelshrew as though it was a shield. Surely she was too old for toys, now, she'd seen the Vortex.

Sighing deeply, Rassilon marched across the room so that she only cringed further back. Pausing discreetly, he stood a few metres away from the bed until she had composed herself.

“What is it, Rodageitmososa?”

“Zagreus.”

Despite himself, Rassilon blinked, his tone sterner than diplomacy suggested. “Zagreus is nothing more than a legend Rodageitmososa and is most certainly not a reasonable excuse to be shouting in the early hours of the morning.”

He turned to leave but Rodageitmososa quivered again, her bottom lip wobbling, and he paused with one hand on the doorframe. What was he supposed to do, comfort her? Tell her that everything was going to be alright? He’d never planned on being a father and he was hardly the babysitting type. Rodageitmososa was far out of his league. As though preparing himself to give a speech to the whole of Gallifrey, he ran his hands through his hair and then smoothed down the line of gold filigree on his robes, reminding himself that he was a man woman adored and men feared. If he couldn’t face down a Time Tot and weave the right words to quieten her enough that he could get some sleep then what good was he ever going to do in Parliament?

“Do... You want to talk about it?”

Slowly, Rodageitmososa nodded. Rassilon rolled his eyes and pulled a face, briefly letting himself wonder who had even thought tafelshrews were a sensible creature to make a child’s toy out of. Stupid hairy grey things with snuffling noses and claws of all things why would you put little fabric claws on a toy and... He cleared his throat to shake the ramble from his thoughts. So long as it gave comfort, he supposed. But they were hardly grand and befitting of the stature Gallifrey was making for itself in the universe.

“Start at the beginning, Rodageitmososa.” Rassilon sighed. He might as well get a lesson out of this. “Recite me the poem.”

Rodageitmososa sat up straight, the recital apparently helping calm her nerves. Gallifreyan schools were very precise and orderly, after all, and if Rassilon had heard that she had been peppering her professors with talk of Robin Hood and distracting herself from her lessons then, well, it wasn’t evident right now. Or maybe she’d known this poem back from when she was a child – along with the Toclafane, Zagreus was no longer the figure she had been when Rassilon had known but now a sort of boogieman for young children. And her father had owned a library, after all. 

“Zagreus sits inside your head,  
Zagreus lives among the dead,  
Zagreus sees you in your bed,  
And eats you when you're sleeping. 

Zagreus at the end of days,  
Zagreus lies all other ways,  
Zagreus comes when time's ablaze,  
And history is weeping. 

Zagreus taking time apart,  
Zagreus fears the hero heart,  
Zagreus seeks the final part;  
The reward that he is reaping. 

Zagreus sings when all is lost,  
Zagreus takes all those he's crossed,  
Zagreus wins and all is cost,  
The hero's hearts he's keeping. 

Zagreus seeks the hero's ship,  
Zagreus needs the web to rip,  
Zagreus sups time at a drip,  
And life aside, he's sweeping. 

Zagreus waits at the end of the world,  
For Zagreus is the end of the world. 

His time is the end of time,  
And his moment time's undoing.”

When the Tot was finished, it was clear to Rassilon what had scared her. Seeing her curl in on herself again in the silence that followed, the words haunting her even more, he took a deep breath before sitting down on the end of the bed, one of his hands on the bed beside her and the other on the headboard behind her. He leaned in, voice low and echoing almost as though he was telling a story himself, although this time the words, if ruthless, were cunning and meant to reassure.

“Nonsense. Zagreus can’t ‘eat you when you’re sleeping’. I think I would know, Rodageitmososa.”

Warily, Roda lifted her gaze from Rassilon’s medallion to his eyes, and he found himself tipping his head to raise an eyebrow for her obvious question even as she sought blindly for the consolation. “...Why?”

Rassilon shut one eye, then the other, at the high, childish response, but forced himself to continue. There was a voice in his head that said he was glad that the Time Tot was happier but he forced his good sense to remind himself this was only for his benefit, so that he could sleep. It was never supposed to be for hers alone, and he didn’t hold much regard for whether or not she had nightmares every night she sleep in his house or perfect sleep so long as she was quiet about it... That’s what the President told himself.

“Because, Rodageitmososa, I fought Zagreus, and the Yssgaroth. Pure Yssgaroth. I fought the Vampires and I won wars. And I am Lord Rassilon!” His voice became a whispered boom, full of reverence and majesty. “I alone founded the greatest society the universe has ever seen.” Well, there was Omega... “I conquered the Dark Ages. I saved Gallifrey from the Pythia. Do you think Zagreus would even dare enter my house without my say so?” Rodageitmososa shook her head, captured by the speech. “And am I a liar, Rodageitmososa?”

“No, Rassilon!”

She shuddered, and Rassilon cursed inwardly. She was just an innocent Time Tot in need of help. He supposed he could afford her this one slip up in decorum. There was still respect, it seemed, of a sort, but she was a child, and didn’t yet know how to show it. He let his eyebrows fall and manipulated his features into a gentler stare, tentatively touching the top of her head as he eased her back into bed and tugged the sheets once to cover her full form. 

“Then Zagreus does not have my say to enter my home, child, and that is that.”

Rassilon sat back on the end of the bed, his arms no longer caging the child in as he told his story. Rodageitmososa seemed to remember how to breathe again, staring at him in what he preferred would be wonder but was probably something more childish. He patted her head thoughtfully before straightening up and lifting the metallic blinds beside her bed to check the time of day. His spare room, if one could call it that at all, had never been convenient before; important guests remained in the Citadel where they could be watched intently and one night stands remained likewise in his bed chambers.

“Now. You will sleep.”

Rodageitmososa still hummed with excitement, Rassilon’s ‘bedtime story’ the kind of thing that most children liked her to hear. An adventure. Good triumphing over evil. A feeling of safety at the end. He took a deep breath before pointing once more at the pillow, and eventually, his ward got the idea and lay back down on the bed, snuggling into the pillow on her side with the tafelshrew under her chin. She yawned, mumbling quietly, and Rassilon had to strain to hear the words she spoke as she fell asleep. Shutting the door behind him, leaving it open a crack in case she started crying again and woke up the whole of the Prydonian Chapter in the process, he was left questioning his sanity in ‘adopting’ a child, but less so. Right now, however, he had to sleep. “G’night Raz...”


	5. A Big Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You didn’t tell me you were adopted by Lord Rassilon...!”
> 
> “I didn’t think it was important!”

“...Peylix?”

“N-no Lord Rassilon.”

Peri blinked, terrified. Lord Rassilon? This was the address that Roda had told him she was living at now wasn’t it? It was the first time – so she claimed – that she had been allowed to give out the address for friends to visit. What was Lord Rassilon doing in Roda’s house? He dragged his wide eyes away from the President for a second to stare at the grandiose furnishing inside the house and over his shoulder at the huge iron gates. On reflection the whole place had seemed a little grand to be the house an adopted orphan was living in now that Roda’s dad had been killed and her mother was gone.

Peri missed Meyer. Being older than Roda by three years clearly had its benefits. It was years he was amazed Roda didn’t resent him for. He didn’t remember her mother nor did he know what had happened to her either but Roda could only recall her face by photographs and never by memory. And he had both of his parents whereas Roda only had whoever her guardian was. Surely it wasn’t Rassilon. Peri had to have made a mistake. Speaking of which... Rassilon was still staring at him clearly in want of an explanation.

Peri grimaced. “M-my name’s Perigraph.”

“You are not,” Rassilon leaned on his staff casually, eyeing Peri up and down. “Of the Prydonian Chapter?”

Rassilon seemed just as surprised as Peri was. He still stared down at the small, teddy bear shaped child as though he had never seen a Time Tot before. He’d obviously noted that where the Presidential and Prydonian robes were red Perigraph wore the typical heliotrope of his own chapter. But Peri’s blond hair – it was usually more curly but his mother had made him cut it short and it wasn’t so curly anymore – and the glasses that he wore seemed to remind the Lord President of something. If the look on his face was anything to go by at least. Peri had always thought Rassilon the Great to be more deadpan.

He scuffed the toes of his shoes across the floor but he was terrified to come over the threshold. Had Roda given him the wrong address? Or had he come to the wrong address? Peri’s gaze strayed to his hand, to the map of scarlet circles and lines that made up the Gallifreyan directions. Unless he’d suddenly lost the ability to read Gallifreyan then he was definitely in the right place. Peri knew that Roda had been adopted by someone when her Dad died but surely... Surely it hadn’t been Rassilon the Great. Even if Roda was a member of the Prydonian Chapter – Rassilon’s chapter – there must have been families looking to Loom who would welcome an older Time Tot. The concept of an orphanage was alien to the planet but this brought whole new meaning to ‘ward of the Citadel’.

With a quiet cough Peri puffed up his chest and seemed to grow two inches. His father had told him not to be a coward and to respect his elders. Rassilon was definitely his elder and definitely deserved of respect. After all, he’d always been told in the Academy that if it weren’t for Rassilon none of them would be there. He was Rassilon the Great. Rassil Onasti Prydonius. Lord Rassilon. President Rassilon. The Earl of Prydon. Conqueror of Yssgaroth. They’d been learning all about him in class for a week now. What more did anybody need to hear?

His thoughts were interrupted by the President’s gruff clearing of his throat. Peri stared into his greying beard. He put his mind to dragging his gaze from the glittering white point star at the top of the Time Lord’s staff. “No my Lord Rassilon.” The diamond glittered in his line of sight again and he willed his eyes to lift. “Of – of the Patrex Chapter.” There. The terror of facing the President eradicated any childish magnetism to the diamond. “House of K-Kadenwood.”

“Kadenwood.” Rassilon nodded sagely. “And what brings you here Pey-“ The President – the President! – pulled a face. “Perigraph.”

Peri swallowed. Now or never. Rassilon wouldn’t punish him if he’d only made a mistake right? And if he hadn’t and Roda had just been lax with her explanations then it would all become clear to them both and things could get less awkward. “Is R-Roda in? Lord Rassilon Sir?”

For a moment he thought he’d guessed wrong and was in trouble. The President froze and turned before disappearing around a corner and leaving Peri to catch his breath on the doorstep. He struggled to try to construct an apology for wasting the President’s time. But Lord Rassilon returned a few minutes later with a rather confused looking Roda. Peri did his best not to sigh with relief. His best friend beamed and brightened up as soon as she saw Peri and threw herself over the threshold of Rassilon’s door without any of the decorum befitting of the setting. Typical Roda. Peri blinked and his mouth dropped open like a busker’s hat pleading for coins but Roda held on around his neck and glanced up questioningly at Rassilon. She seemed to be begging him with her eyes as she elbowed Peri’s jaw shut gently.

“You may go.” Rassilon reached for the door handle impatiently. “But be back before Glion Gallifreya is out Rodageitmososa.”

Roda grinned and dragged Peri away and out through the grand gates. As soon as he could breathe again he grabbed her arm and squeezed. He felt as though he’d turned more pale than the light that came from looking at the sun for too long then blinking your eyes at a wall. Roda frowned. She was worried Peri could tell. He let her scowl and pull her arm back agitatedly and winced apologetically as she rubbed the muscle. The Time Tot hadn’t realised he’d held onto her arm so tight. Peri murmured an apology and she touched her best friend’s cheek. Apology accepted. “Are you alright Peri?”

Peri groaned and the blood returned to his face. “You didn’t tell me you were adopted by Lord Rassilon...!”

“I didn’t think it was important!” Roda tipped her head in genuine confusion. Shocked out of his reverie Peri burst out laughing. “...What?”

“The,” He accentuated every word, “Lord Rassilon. The one and only.” Roda pouted with a blush of her own. “And you didn’t think it was important.” He rubbed his neck. “Just wait till everyone else finds out who you live with.” Roda grimaced at the idea of so much attention and Peri paused. If he reacted like this and had known her all her life then how was everybody else going to react? The thought made Peri chew his lip and he looked up at her comfortingly as his voice quietened to a near whisper. “Does anyone else know?”

Roda hummed. “Just professors. I didn’t tell Kae either.” She wrung her hands as they walked. “But it’s only been a few months Peri. And it’s not... You know...” Roda turned her palms to the orange sky as she fumbled for the words. In the end she just raised an eyebrow and Peri nodded. He knew what she meant. “You think people’ll talk?”

It took all of Peri’s strength not to smack his face into the palm of his hand. How was Roda so oblivious?

“People are gonna talk, Roda. Trust me.” Peri threw his arm around Roda’s shoulders. “But let’s see them try and make a big deal out of it.”

“You made a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah.” Peri tapped the end of Roda’s nose and she giggled. The tension in the air seemed to melt into atmosphere. “But I’m allowed to.” Roda rested her head against his neck. “I’m your best friend.”


	6. Moon Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pazithi Gallifreya, the largest of our planet’s two moons, has a distinct coppery shine; as you know, the moon glows so brightly that it is even visible to the most untrained eye during the day. It’s not because of the gases in the atmosphere or because of the colour of the ground, like Gallifrey’s famed red grass, but because of the metals. Gallifrey has been using it as their prime location for industrialized smelting for centuries, since our President, Rassilon the Great brought our planet out of the Dark Ages and began expanding our culture, exports, imports and infamy. For without Lord Rassilon, truly where would we be? I, at least, would be dead, for Lord Rassilon and the estranged late Lord Omega would not have discovered the Gallifreyan’s capacity for time travel or regeneration. Long live Lord Rassilon."

“Pazithi Gallifreya, the largest of our planet’s two moons, has a distinct coppery shine; as you know, the moon glows so brightly that it is even visible to the most untrained eye during the day. It’s not because of the gases in the atmosphere or because of the colour of the ground, like Gallifrey’s famed red grass, but because of the metals. Gallifrey has been using it as their prime location for industrialized smelting for centuries, since our President, Rassilon the Great brought our planet out of the Dark Ages and began expanding our culture, exports, imports and infamy. For without Lord Rassilon, truly where would we be? I, at least, would be dead, for Lord Rassilon and the estranged late Lord Omega would not have discovered the Gallifreyan’s capacity for time travel or regeneration. Long live Lord Rassilon.

“Has everyone taken notes on the last slide? Good. Rodageitmososa, pay attention! Where was I? ...Yes, thank you, Selesion. Pazithi Gallifreya, however, has not always been such a useful moon; although we now know it to be a valuable asset to Gallifrey’s development, the earlier Galifreyans believed Pazithi Gallifreya to be one of their gods, praying to her for guidance and good fortune. They’d believed the moon’s characteristic sheen to be some form of celestial glow and despaired in the instance of a lunar eclipse – such as will occur shortly after this lecture – celebrating the following hours as the rebirth of their goddess in much the same way that some primitive Sol cultures tell stories of the mythological phoenix rising from the ashes. Indeed, some of the Pythia’s followers – Outsiders and Shobogans, largely, fools by any standard – still follow these heathen traditions, despite our knowledge and advancement away from the structure of meaningless religion.

“After all, how can we put our praise in so-called deities when Lord Rassilon _himself_ has proved time and time again that...”

Rodageitmososa let her thoughts of the lesson, half propaganda and only half intelligent, that she had been sent out of drift from her mind. Professor Borusa’s words were easily drowned out by the incessant throbbing of what she feared would be a black eye before the day was through. At least, she reasoned, camped outside of Rassilon’s office on the floor against the opposite wall with her knees folded up to her chin and an icepack held against her face that one of Lord Rassilon’s less callous guards had brought for her, Selesion had not come out of the fight any better off. Apart from the possibility of a broken wrist where Roda had pushed him away from her in desperation, he had the imprint of her teeth in one hand. She wanted the spit at the memory, swearing she could still taste his skin and blood in her mouth, but spitting in the corridor outside of Rassilon’s rooms was going to do her absolutely no favours. In fact, it was destined to only make things worse.

Biting down at her cheek and tasting her own blood, where she had bitten through the skin in shock of Selesion’s first punch, Roda wished she could see the sky. Although lunar eclipses, between Gallifrey’s two moons – Pazithi and Glion Gallifreya – were relatively common, this was the first one that Roda would have witnessed in her lifetime of their largest and brightest moon. It would have been _beautiful_... She’d been looking forward to it for months. 

Roda rubbed her jaw, thinking over what she’d managed to glean from Borusa before he’d thrown her out – not for the first time. Roda was desperate to graduate, desperate to do good to get that glimmer of approval from Rassilon, so that she could leave, and go travel. Maybe she could get a job with some sort of exploration team, get out there and see the world and come back with brilliant finds that would earn her some acclaim, prove to people like Borusa and Borusa and Rassilon that she could account to something.

Of course there was Robin Hood to consider in whatever career she found when she graduated but the hurdle could be jumped when she got to it. And it was impossible to consider her future in terms of Time Lady status if people like Professor Borusa made it clear how little he wanted her to graduate and earn her TARDIS. She’d missed so many lessons for the most trivial of his complaints, and had been forced to pore over Peri and Feredoc’s notes every night just to pass her exams. It was hard to focus on studies when being thrown out of the class made her so angry that all she wanted to do was lose herself in stories of Robin Hood that had been salvaged from Meyerodeon’s library before Rassilon had refused her entry, the last time she’d gotten into a fight with another student.

But it really wasn’t her fault, this time! All she’d done was raise her hand to ask a question – exhaustion had sent her mind drifting, and she’d missed the solution to her Professor’s talk of Pazithi Gallifreya’s mining techniques – and Selesion had called out, trill as a mocking bird, to shoot her down a notch. _Roda’s fallen asleep again, Sir. Roda wasn’t listening to you, Sir. I don’t think Roda even wants to be here, Sir._ She’d said some harsh words that the whole class would have heard, and in a rare feat of justice Borusa has excused them both from his classroom, but when Roda had rounded on Sel to chastise him from stealing more of her education from her, he’d been ready with a taunt and a curled fist.

It wasn’t like him to start a fight and especially not without considerable backup, but it wasn’t like Roda to let it slide. Rather than let herself be beaten up, despite promising Lord Rassilon that she wouldn’t strike another student again and would seek his help should she feel provoked, she’d thrown a punch back, and the situation had only gone downhill from there, Roda’s common sense banished to some distant portion of her mind. The look on Sel’s face had suggested there was far more to his malice than just anger at having been sent out of class, but Roda wasn’t calm enough to try and find out if something had upset him, and was enraged enough not to care.

It was when she’d smelled the illegal, imported alcohol (from Ta, because Roda recognized the spices when Feri had once gotten her hands on a bottle of it herself) on his breath that she’d put two and two together. He had pinned her to a locker with a hand trying to get down the front of her scarlet robes, his own Scelces a sort of mocking contrast, and Roda had feared for more than a few bruises when he’d began explaining himself. So she’d bitten him. Then thrown him back so hard that he’d broken bones, connecting with her knee and then the floor. He’d wailed, then, getting the attention of Borusa who in his customary five minute break in the three hour lecture had come out to presumably tell Roda off and allow _perfect_ Selesion back into the class, and it was Roda who had been marched off to Rassilon’s offices. Borusa hadn’t even bothered to find a replacement to teach his class, so eager was he to see her fall, and when Sel had been sent to the Academy’s multi-Chapter hospital wing, Roda had no doubt whatsoever that by flashing Daddy’s status around, he would be absolved of all misbehaviour without even a slap to the wrists.

“...Disrupted my classes for the last time! And now assaulting another student! I have sent Selesion to Lord Galegochaelax, my Lord, you know how his father will look upon this...!”

“I will deal with Lord Scandimårsten, my Lord Borusa, and I will deal with my ward.”

“But Lord President!”

Roda had stood up when the heated discussion in the next room had reached her ears. The Lord President’s chambers were usually sound-proofed, which meant that someone must have opened the door or leaned on a button, presumably by mistake. The guards at the door – Rassilon always had two guards outside, but Roda couldn’t even imagine who would try and reach him with ill intent – were stoic as ever and trained to ignore anything they heard, but Roda couldn’t help herself. The nicer of the two guards had tried to hold her back, thinking she meant to interrupt the discussion, but Roda had assured both guards that she only meant to stretch her legs so that she could be standing when Lord Rassilon called on her. That suited them fine; a Time Tot respecting the Lord President was hardly out of order, especially one who still lived part-time under his roof. Pacing by the door to hear what she could before the mistake was realised, wishing she could press her ear to the carved wood of Rassilon’s chamber to catch every word, she stretched out her stiff legs, transferring the ice pack from her now, mercifully, less swollen face to her collarbone in the process, listening intently.

“She is a menace and I hardly understand, after what the Castellan has reported, and the things you’ve done, why you would allow her to remain in your –!”

“Do not dare to question me Lord Borusa. I know well your opinions on the matter and I need not be told again.” Roda raised an eyebrow, and hid it behind a swipe of her hand over her face. What did Lord Rassilon mean? After all, despite what would and had happened Roda had no idea that if Rassilon had not intervened then neither she nor her mother would have survived Roda’s pregnancy. His reasons weren’t entirely selfless, but it wasn’t something Roda was likely to ever be told. “How you feel towards Rodageitmososa does not affect the reality of the matter. Report the facts, Lord Borusa, and keep your opinions to yourself.” Roda smirked despite herself, glad to see one of her most hated Professors brought down from his pedestal. He was always on her back, and damned if she knew why. “And I need not remind you to speak of your discussions with me on this or any matter to no one.”

In later years Rassilon’s last words might have rang warning bells in Roda’s head but for now, that the most powerful man on the planet would want to protect his secrets seemed only natural. She pushed that away, eager to hear Borusa's turn on the events, but sighed and sat back down again when a faint click and an angry mutter in what was undoubtedly Rassilon’s gruff tones signalled the discovery of the leak in communications. She heard no more of the conversation, and cursed lightly herself before dropping the ice to her lap in resignation.

She didn’t know what else to do. It would only be ten minutes, if that, until the lunar eclipse was complete, for this had been her last class of the day. It was evening, for Gallifrey, and Pazithi would be glowing even brighter than before. She closed her eyes and imagined she could see the eclipse, the ring of orange light around a shadow that was planet Gallifrey in all its glory. It was almost a suffocating idea, to the claustrophobic Gallifreyan, that darkness could kill a moon if only for a couple of seconds. If she really focused, could those few lessons she had had so far in telepathy allow her to see the eclipse through another’s eyes? She doubted it, and was loathed to try, too; it would get her into more trouble and it seemed invasive to use a stranger for her own selfish wishes. Had the situation been more important she might have entertained the notion longer. Sighing, she willed her friends to go on without her, to the spot they’d found to watch the eclipse the night before. Peri would be heartsbroken if he missed it. That way at least he would be able to describe it to her eventually; he'd probably taken cameras, too. Now, wondering just what lies Borusa was weaving about a fight he hadn’t even witnessed, she was desperate to build herself some protection or some kind of story, if Rassilon would hear it, but she couldn’t shake the eclipse, and the moon, from her thoughts.

“. _..The earlier Galifreyans believed Pazithi Gallifreya to be one of their gods, praying to her for guidance and good fortune..._ ” Roda lifted her head, wondering. Was it worth it? What did she have to lose, after all; guidance and good fortune was exactly what she would need to get through this meeting with Rassilon smoothly. There was no hope of seeing the eclipse even with the most amazing of luck unless she ran now, and to try would be folly, but if she played her cards right and kept her cool then Rassilon might be lenient and let her out to see her friends.

Things had been different in recent months. He’d grown more distant and more highly attuned to her failures than her achievements, and time spent with him was nothing like the almost affectionate memories she had of him. When her father had first been murdered, and he’d given her a bed and to all intents and purposes a home. She still respected him, loved him in a way, but she also resented his antipathy. Back to the matter of praying, Roda hummed. Deciding it couldn’t do any wrong, Roda uncurled the fingers of his clenched fists and laced them together, resting her forehead on top of her hands like she’d seen in books, and pictures.

But how to pray? It was considered arcane and almost heathen on Gallifrey, and it was widely agreed that the gods Gallifrey had once revered did not exist. They protected themselves and made their own fortune and didn’t need religion, and so nobody had ever taught Roda what to say, how to act. Was Pazithi Gallifreya a friend to approach for help, or should she be down on her knees begging for mercy? If she said the wrong thing and she did turn out to exist would Roda be smote where she stood, Rassilon be damned? For if there was a goddess listening to her plea then everything she’d ever taken for granted about the Lord President and her adoptive guardian would be thrown into disarray. In a way, this was scarier than anything she had done today even when Selesion had tried to... Roda didn’t even want to think about it, and so pulled her curled black hair out of eyes, pulling a ribbon not unlike the one Rassilon himself wore from her pocket and tying her tangled mane off of her face. Her caramel brown eyes were already wet with tears as she closed them again, ignoring the baffled, cynical looks of the guards at the door and the muttered queries about whether they should inform Lord Rassilon that his ward seemed to have succumbed to madness and begun talking to herself.

“Paz- Lady Pazithi Gallifreya? ...Hi.” She tried to keep her words quiet enough that no one would notice she was muttering a prayer, least of all her seeming protectors, in the form of Rassilon’s mutli-tasking guard. Roda frowned, kneading her hand against the cheek that was throbbing anew and carried on praying. “I – I was told that people used to... Still pray to you, sometimes, when they need help, and... I need help now. I... I don’t know what to do.” She swallowed, knowing it was true. She might build up a façade of confidence and proclaim that she could take care of herself – and, to an extent, it was true, and she had changed since losing both parents – but there was a part of Roda that needed help, affection and guidance that she couldn’t find in people her own age and grand, distant wardens. Even Professor Niels, her favourite teacher, was little comfort now that he no longer taught her and Roda found it harder to grab spare time in which to visit. “I got into a fight today, and I got hurt, but I hurt him more... He was insulting Dad, and me! And he tried to do something...” She laughed almost hysterically. “ _Unholy._ But Raz is gonna be angry, and I’m going to miss your eclipse, and – and I need some of that good fortune if you have it to spare.” She paused again. “Please.”

Roda opened one eye, then her other. Was that it? She didn’t know how to finish off the prayer so she uttered a silent, loud note of telepathic thanks before unclasping her hands and letting her white knuckles bleed back into red then more natural peach. As she watched them she winced, then licked her thumb, cleaning blood and the orange dust of the Citadel floor from her hands absently. And she did feel a little more confident, but it was hard to tell if that was because of what she’d done or the time she’d had to let her passion run its course. She sniffed, wiping her eyes, surprised when the gruffer guard who hadn’t yet addressed her crouched down to test the icepack’s temperature, taking it back and disappearing around the corner for a couple of minutes to return with it recharged and a handkerchief from his pocket. She smiled weakly, murmuring thanks both to him and to the forgotten maybe-god, then staggered to her feet as an ominous creak announced the opening of Rassilon’s door. Professor Borusa stormed out, the short stout man still taller than Roda and almost trampling her as he left seemingly pursued by some invisible demons. After catching her breath, fury bubbling up again, Roda peered in the door to see Rassilon poised immaculately at his desk.

“Enter, Rodageitmososa.”

Roda swallowed and stood as tall as she could, and the guards stepped by to let her pass. As she walked into the middle of the room and let the icepack hang to her side, silently pleading with Rassilon to give her a chance to have her say, defying him to refuse her that right, the door slid shut behind her. The air turned cloying, and for a moment, Roda turned and meant to leave, but a few murmured words of encouragement under her breath and the mental images of Borusa and Sel’s sneering faces kept her in place. She could do this. Speaking wasn’t difficult, if she was able to find the words. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to account for her actions and naturally, it wouldn’t be her last. But this time, she wasn’t completely in the wrong, and maybe, just maybe but she couldn’t be sure, she had the approval of a goddess to help her out. She lifted her chin, jaw tight, and met Rassilon’s hard gaze for as long as she could before forcing her stubborn feet to take a step forward. Calmly. Roda pretended it was going to be alright, playing with escaped strands of her hair and wrapping them around her index finger.

“You sent for me, Lord Rassilon?” He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and before she could stop herself Roda had launched into an explanation, an excuse, anything that could get through to him. Or at least, she felt that she had, heard all of what she wanted to say in her head. What came out was a rather feeble, “Selesion started it.” She rubbed her jaw, angry at herself, and Rassilon levered himself to his feet, one hand caressing the end of his staff. Roda could tell from the look on his face and the way that his hair was just a little less organized than normal that Borusa had not left him in a good mood, and he had not had a good day to begin with. “I – I mean he hit me first. I had to defend myself!” Her hands were turned palm to the roof, imploring and almost biblical in posture, rather fitting of her pagan act of prayer. She turned one hand to point at her face, the other still holding the icepack loosely. Half in a mirror image, Rassilon raised one palm in her direction and Roda obediently shut her mouth. His voice was low, strangely controlled, and he stepped around the table to hold her chin, turn her head to examine the swelling over her eye.

“Lord Scandimårsten’s son did this?”

“If – if that’s Sel’s -?”

“Lord Selesion’s father, of the Scelces Chapter, yes.” He said the other chapter’s name almost like it disgusted him, and Roda supposed that despite ruling the whole planet, Rassilon probably harboured a sort of sentimentality to the Prydonian Chapter that he had founded and was still patriarch of. After all the scarlet reminiscent of the chapter was echoed in the Presidential robes, albeit accompanied by gold and pomp. Roda nodded, and Rassilon’s scowl deepened, as he let go of her face and motioned that she should lift the icepack back to her face. She gratefully did. “And what did you do to Selesion?”

“I... Think I broke his arm.”

Rassilon sighed with resignation. “We will talk when you have treated your injuries, Rodageitmososa.” Roda opened her mouth to argue, or thank. “But you must remember to keep your temper in check next time you feel threatened or angry towards another student! It is unacceptable to strike a fellow Time Lord – your parents would be ashamed.”

He thumped the end of his staff down on the floor, eyes narrowed disapprovingly, but Roda had to force down a tentative smile. It was a kindness, that he was letting her leave now, would not lecture her until she got ‘home’. Roda met his eyes, almost touched. He stared back and Roda was desperate to understand the meaning in his face but he averted his eyes almost immediately. But there was the kindness, still. Something to be thankful for and cling to, remember, next time that she swore to herself she hated him and would leave his House consequences be damned. After all by technicality, upon graduation she should inherit the House of Meyerodeon from the Citadel’s keeping. It wasn’t something she cared much for but at least it left her with an escape route.

Roda gazed skyward, thanking Pazithi Gallifreya, too. “Thank you, Rassilon.” He pursed his lips. “Ah... My _Lord_ Rassilon.”

“Thank you?”

Roda’s voice was quiet, as though she was five years old and being introduced to the man who would replace her father all over again. “For your mercy.”

He nodded, perceptive, stepping away from her and to a panel on the wall, mumbling instructions into the microphone. Roda let out a breath, the walls seeming to expand again as the manifestation of Rassilon’s anger grew smaller, taking up less of the space and oxygen. She had never been comfortable in his office what with her claustrophobia, but his improved mood made it bearable. Rassilon stepped away from the wall panel and let the metal disc bearing his seal drop back to his chest before approaching her again.

“Do not believe that the matter is closed, Rodageitmososa. As I said – we shall talk. You will think about your actions until you return home tonight. Is that clear?”

“White Point Star cl-clear, Lord Rassilon.”

“Good.” The door slid open again and one of the guards at the door stepped forward, ready to accompany Roda to the hospital chambers. Either Rassilon did not trust her to obey his commands or he did not trust her legs not to give way underneath her before she reached them. Whichever it was, she wouldn’t be able to get a message to Peri and Feri unless gossip had spread. If it had, they’d know how to find her, and the idea of seeing them soon brought a spring back to her step. “You may leave, Rodageitmososa.”

As soon as she had the permission, Roda all but ran.


	7. Chasing Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young lovers stargazing might have been a cliche, but Roda and Peri wouldn't change it for the world. Their teenage years wouldn't last forever...

“Perigraph?”

“…Rodageitmososa?” Peri smirked, raising an intrigued eyebrow as he sat up and leaned on one arm to look over at his best friend. From her own spot, lying on her back on Gallifrey’s red grass, Roda lifted her head to glance up at him with both arms crossed behind her and her Academy robes rolled up past her elbows. They both laughed, after a moment of silence and gaping jaws at the formal addresses, then Roda let her head drop again, studying the sky as the fingers of one hand caught and released the blades of grass beneath her arm.

“Peri… You’re smart.”

Peri faked a pout. “Thank you for that…!” Peri spent every free moment during Academy hours that he didn’t spend with Roda and their other friend Kaedan encaged in a book, or an extra-curricular experiment or something… Intelligent. It was a far cry from how Kae spent so much time trying to fit in with the latest fashion or risqué trend, or Roda’s borderline obsession with any story to do with Robin Hood. His would get him somewhere, and they always said that he would be the next great scientist of Gallifrey, competition even for the great Lord Omega’s talent and sheer number of patents. Peri laughed them off but Roda knew that there was a part of him that lapped up the compliments like a cat with cream, and that if he did achieve something that great he’d be delighted. Roda had no doubt that he could and Kae had promised that when he did he could wear her on his arm so that he looked as cool as he was smart. Kae was the youngest of the group and Peri the oldest, with Roda in the middle, but they behaved as though they were the same age. Although Roda had been drifting away from Kae in the last few years, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to live without Peri easily.

Roda stuck out her tongue. “What I mean is… Why’s the grass red?” Peri blinked. “I mean… Sol-3’s got green grass, not red, and I’ve read in books that the grass there goes orange when it dies instead of brown. Well, sort of orange. So why is our grass red? Why is our sky orange instead of blue? Why is – !”

“Ro-Ro, one question at a time!”

Peri clasped one of his large hands to Roda’s mouth, chuckling, his grey eyes glinting almost red themselves in the light of Pazithi Gallifreya, Gallifrey’s larger and brighter moon. Against his heliotrope robes it made him look almost harlequinade, with his seemingly bleached blond, curly hair and abundance of freckles. There was a smudge on his glasses and Roda reached up to wipe it with her sleeve, playfully pushing his hand away from her mouth. Roda’s black curls were longer and her eyes black, and lined up side by side she and Peri were polar opposites. Peri with his teddy bear figure, tall and welcoming, and short, slim Roda. Peri passing all of his exams with flying colours and Roda barely making the grades. Peri loved by all the teachers and Roda... Well, Roda had bitten a few of her professors in the past (and not all of them the distant past) and the results spoke for themselves. No one could ever understand what they saw in each other but somehow they just sort of melded. How and when they, and Kae, were able to meet up was limited since they’d been separated into separate Chapters – Roda in the Prydonian Chapter, Peri in the Patrex and Kae in the Scelces – but the breaks seemed to mean nothing.

Satisfied she wasn’t going to rant, Peri removed his hand and Roda continued. Either she didn’t notice his blush, or she didn’t pay it any attention. “Don’t you ever want to go out there, figure out why everything’s different? Screw school, I want to travel, and learn on the way!”

Peri rolled his eyes, lying down again and moving subtly closer to Roda, tipping his head to make out the shape of one of their constellations. Rassilon’s Belt, students called the one he was looking at, but Peri knew its real name; Orion’s belt, and Sirius the Dog Star, to his side. The individual stars had names too, most easily spoken in a branch of Latin that if said with the right inflections sounded suspiciously like High Gallifreyan. People often made fun of the humans but it had been one of their men, from the early centuries to boot, who had named hundreds of Mutter’s Spiral’s stars, and those names had somehow stuck. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the rumours that Rassilon had leaked his DNA into planets whose genotype might rival the Gallifreyan genome was true, and although it had seemingly protected the planet’s asset, it seemed to have helped further the intelligence of so many societies. Resting his hand on Roda’s arm, he stretched out her hand with his fingers laced over the back of hers, murmuring into her neck instead of answering her question. This time it was Roda’s turn to blush, but Peri knew she was clueless to his feelings. He knew Roda well enough to know she didn’t return his infatuation in the same way that he offered it. Her thoughts were far too scattered and elsewhere to fall in love easily.

“That’s Orion’s Belt. That’s what your humans called it, anyway.”

“Rassilon’s Belt?” Roda bit her lip, then grinned. “I like Orion’s Belt better. I mean, we should have called it Rassilon’s Beard if anything!” Peri laughed along with her, still holding her hand, then pointed out another line of stars.

“That one’s nothing to us, but if you look at it from the other side of Mutter’s Spiral it looks like a spoon. I think they call it the Big Dipper, or the Northern Star.” He caressed her knuckle as he pulled her a little closer, pointing the other way. “And right there, beside Glion Gallifreya,” Their smaller moon, “Castor and Pollux?” Roda nodded; those were names she knew from their lessons in planetary physics. “The humans call it Gemini. Like, they think the stars are twins?” Peri frowned, angry at himself for not knowing the stories better, then flapped a hand and nodded confidently. “Yeah, I think that’s it. What do you think?”

“I still think I want to go and see the stars – hang my TARDIS in the sky and watch them glow, and find another planet that has red grass like ours... Would you come with me if I left, Peri?” Roda frowned, worried. Peri pursed his lips. “Or – or if you’d rather go and be Omega, I could visit you, all the time! I could be your messenger girl and bring you all the chemicals and doo-dads that you need for your inventions. And I can help with the isomorphology.” It was funny, but the personalised control of technology, and the science behind the imprinting of TARDISes, was the only scientific subject that Roda had ever bettered her friends, and a large part of her class, in. Obviously it wasn’t one of Professor Castrivax’s lessons, because he’d have hated her less if he thought she cared what he had to say, and unfortunately not one of Niels’, because he taught Sol Studies and Gallifreyan History 101. It was her knack for isomorphology that most interested Lord Rassilon, her legal guardian, who had decided she should pursue a career in the Council in technological security. “I wouldn’t get in the way, and you could work from my laboratory if you wanted...”

“Ssh, Roda.” Concerned, Peri sat up, pressing two of his fingers gently to Roda’s lips, then running his thumb along her bottom lip in deep thought. “We’ve got years till then. And whatever happens, whatever job we end up with, I’m hardly going to let you run off and leave me, eh? And I’m never going to lock you out.”

“You locked me out last night.” Roda’s eyes were locked on Peri’s hand. He winced, and Roda kissed his thumb, before rolling over to sit up. “I know, that was a mistake. I lost your hall keys and Lord Maxafantras wouldn’t let me in the Patrex Chambers without a warrant. Believe me, I asked.”

“One good thing about having Rassilon for a Dad. He always lets me in if I visit... Always expect him to tell me I shouldn’t know where his front door is, really...”

“He’s not my Dad.” Roda kept her eyes on the grass, plucking a handful and threading it together to take her mind off of Meyerodeon’s murder, and the half adoption she’d had into Rassilon’s House. Rassilon might have filled the hole that Meyerodeon had left behind but he would never replace him. Not ever. “But he likes you. Thinks you’re a good reference.” She chuckled. “But he did keep trying to call you Peylix.”

“I should be insulted, but one does not take offence if the Lord President remembers you at all.” Peri had adopted a posh tone that only made Roda laugh more, and he leaned in to tickle her, knowing all the right spots until he had her rolling on the grass desperately trying to push him off, prone with laughter and Peri atop her hips.

“Peri... Peri! Perigraph, stop it!” He grinned, showing her his teeth, then stopped, making a show of only doing so to push his glasses back onto his nose where they’d fallen down, then put his hands back on her stomach. Roda’s robes had rode up in the skirmish, and her back would have been stained red if her robes hadn’t already been scarlet; Peri’s knees were fuchsia where the heliotrope had blurred with the grass stains. Roda squeaked.

“I’ll get off if you close your eyes.”

Laughing, Roda did as she was told, folding her arms over her chest, and grinning up at him defiantly. Peri planted his kiss to her lips, quick and deep, and then jumped off and out of sight before Roda had time to turn the colour of the grass and open her eyes questioningly. She touched her lips, frantically got to her feet, and then scanned the fields of Mount Perdition. No Peri. She searched a few minutes longer, calling his name in hushed and confused tones, before she had to go or risk missing Rassilon’s allotted curfew. Peri grinned to think she’d been looking for him after all, and then scrambled down the mountain and back to his own Chambers. He’d sleep well tonight just thinking Roda might care for him too.


End file.
